


just give me a reason

by casualdisaster



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, First Kiss, M/M, Mentions of Major Character Death, alex let them be happy, idk man this follows on from 178 and then got away from me, spoilers for 178, zolf and wilde make out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27946457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualdisaster/pseuds/casualdisaster
Summary: Zolf has feelings he's not sure what to do with.Then Wilde wakes up.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 18
Kudos: 94





	just give me a reason

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't even that good, im so sorry
> 
> i was determined never to write anything for this podcast, because, well [gestures], but then Zoscar happened and now here we are
> 
> i just,, i want them to be happy

The pyre is still burning slowly as Zolf turns his back and walks away. He hopes Skraak is okay, and that Cel could do what he couldn't and find the right thing to say to help him. To help him grieve, to help him come to terms with what happened, and to help him understand that no matter what, it wasn't his fault. 

He can't face the pyre. He can't face the pain on the faces of Hamid and Auz, on Skraak, and on Cel. He was never as close to the kobolds as the rest; Hamid, for all his faults, really tried, Cel makes a friend out of everyone and everything, and Azu was literally in Meerk’s body during the aurora. They all lost someone, and yet the one person Zolf can honestly say he cares that much about… he got to have back. So no, he can’t face the pyre and the sadness, at least not without someone beside him to ground him and help him ease the guilt he feels. He feels… Lost, without the irritating and yet calming presence of his _friend_ , Oscar Wilde. 

For the most part, Zolf would like to think he has grown as a person. That he has less of an edge to him now, and has become a better version of himself; softer, even, if you will. The persistent anger he has carried with him for so long has abated, and he's better at expressing his emotions than before. But the events of the last few hours have made it glaringly obvious to him that he still has a long way to go, and he feels like somewhat of a failure. 

Wilde and Sassraa are laid out nearby, still sleeping, and as Zolf finds himself drifting towards them he can't help but notice the way the firelight dances in Wilde's snow-white hair. 

That's something they share, now. 

A psychical marker that links them together, something that shows that they’ve been through the same things. But even then, it doesn't come close to describing what's under the surface, or to understanding what lies beneath. 

Something which Zolf still refuses to acknowledge. 

He huffs a sigh, and lowers himself onto the floor at the head of Wilde's cot. He's exhausted, and possibly even a little delirious, but he feels a surge of protectiveness when looking at Wilde's sleeping form, and he's reluctant to be away from him for too long. Someone's got to make sure the idiot doesn't wake up and immediately hurt himself, after all. Or at least, so he tells himself.

He's aware he's not being at all subtle; showing the crew the cards in his hand before he's even had a chance to examine them himself, but there hasn't been time to look and, frankly, there are more important things to be thinking about than matters of the heart and mind. 

But for a moment, one Gods awful moment, Zolf thought he wasn't going to ever get that chance.

He used to think he was doing the right thing, the _smart_ thing by ignoring whatever he was feeling, whatever was causing him to smile whenever he saw glimpses of that “old” Wilde, whatever it was that was linking his moods to Wilde’s. Every time he’d just closed his mind and turned away, focussed on something else, and refused to acknowledge what he already knew to be true. Because if he acknowledged it, if he put a name to it, then it became real. Real in a way that scared him more deeply than he would ever admit to anyone.

But seeing Wilde’s body in the snow, broken and lifeless, and knowing that there was nothing - _nothing_ \- he could do to save the man he- 

Well. 

It had almost broken him there and then. He’d wanted to throw himself down into the snow, drag Wilde into his lap, and _pray_. Pray to any God who might listen, who might hear his desperate plea, who might give him back. But he’d had to clamp down on the raging torrent of grief, anger, and words unsaid that swelled up inside of him, and keep going. Keep going, despite how everything he’d convinced himself was ‘ _for the best_ ’ and ‘ _the right thing to do_ ’ just came crashing down around him.

He watches as the pyre burns down so low as to be embers, and the kobolds continue to stand around and stare into the dying flames. Hamid has been folded into a hug by Azu, and Zolf isn’t sure which one of them needs the comfort more. He’s happy Hamid has someone to seek comfort in, someone to trust and someone to care about him, he is, but seeing it so clearly before him when the only person he’s ever trusted that much is lying unconscious behind him… It makes him feel so bone-achingly lonely.

There’s a hand on his shoulder and his heart surges into his throat, thinking it to be Wilde, that he’s awake and he’s come back and that there’s so much they need to talk about and that he’s not had nearly enough time to process any of it- but it’s just one of the Ursans. They’re saying something to him, but he can’t really understand them. There’s a roaring in his ears as he stares past the Ursan at Wilde, still asleep, hair white and all scars gone. All traces of the battles they’ve fought together erased in mere moments.

Then suddenly Cel is there, looking as tired as Zolf feels, but still smiling throughout because that’s what Cel _does_ \- the world could come tumbling down around them all and Cel would still keep smiling, making sure to keep everyone else going, no matter the toll it took on them. He wants to hug them, but he doesn’t do that, he’s not that kind of dwarf, and he’s not sure he can change at this point, even for Cel.

Cel is speaking too, and Zolf can tell by their face it’s something gentle and encouraging, and it takes him a moment to realise that they’re explaining that the Ursans are offering them somewhere to sleep. He nods, dimly, and Cel smiles a knowing smile that says they understand more than Zolf is entirely comfortable with.

A few of the Ursans pick up Wilde and Sassraa - who is also still out - and slowly begin carrying them away, Zolf and Cel following somewhat anxiously in their wake.

Zolf’s so tired that he takes in none of their journey, but the next thing he’s aware of is that Wilde is being carried into one room and he’s being shown into another.

“No,” he says gruffly, shouldering his way past several disgruntled Ursans in an attempt to get into the same room as Wilde. He's not letting that man out of his sight until he's awake and can be sure he's fine.

The Ursans give him a measured look, before saying, “There’s only room enough for one.”

“Then bring me a chair,” Zolf grumbles, a tad more aggressively than he intends, “I’m not leaving him.”

The Ursans nod as if this somehow makes perfect sense, then exchange looks in which they seem to be having a silent conversation, before one of them leaves, presumably to fetch Zolf his chair. 

He stands awkwardly to one side as they lay Wilde onto the room's one small bed, unsure what to do with himself but unwilling to be anywhere else. He busies himself with lighting the small fireplace in the corner for warmth, before it begins to remind him too much of Meerk's pyre and the unconscious man behind him, and he hurriedly puts it out. 

The chair they bring him is not the most comfortable thing he's ever sat in, but it beats being tied to a ship's wheel, so he can hardly complain. He positions the chair as close to Wilde as he can bear, before slumping down into it in an attempt to sleep. 

But sleep does not come. 

He watches Wilde sleep for a time, unsure what else to do with himself. He feels… raw. The conversation with Wilde in the in between space took more out of him than he’d expected; he’d planned just to offer Wilde the choice, but naturally the man had to make it far more complicated.

_“Do you want there to be another reason?”_

He’s really not sure if Wilde purposefully missed the implication in order to be difficult or if he was just so overwhelmed that for once something slipped past him, but it still hurts slightly that Wilde didn’t even acknowledge it. Zolf can’t really say he blames him, given all the information that he’d had dumped on him moments prior, but that doesn’t stop the sting.

He’d had his feelings dragged into the light and then thrown back at him. It _hurts_. He grips the arms of the chair and glares at Wilde, but the glare doesn’t stick and simply slides off his face the longer he looks at Wilde.

He has to tell him.

They can deal with whatever comes next however they will, but to hell with “the mission comes first” and all those other thoughts, Zolf thinks; they’re wrong, and Wilde deserves more than that.

_Wilde deserves more than that._

Zolf’s eyes slip closed, and within minutes his breathing becomes regular and he’s fallen into sleep.

He’s not sure how long he’s asleep, but when he wakes it’s still dark out, the only light coming from the fireplace that someone must’ve lit while he was sleeping. The firelight casts the small room in a warm, orange glow, the shadows created by the room itself flicker and dance.

There’s a pain in his neck from the position he’d fallen asleep in, but he rolls his shoulders and shrugs it off. Wilde’s still out cold, but his face is peaceful, and Zolf feels a fond smile creeping its way onto his face as he gazes at him.

“Has no one ever told you it’s wrong to watch someone sleep?” 

Zolf’s heart leaps into his mouth at the sound of Wilde’s voice, real and warm and alive, and he’s not sure exactly what possesses him to do so, but he slides out of his chair to kneel by Wilde’s head.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, but his voice is breathless and shaky with joy.

Wilde’s eyes flutter open to meet Zolf’s, and he smirks. “Miss me?”

Zolf laughs, possibly for the first time in days, and takes Wilde’s face in his hands before he can stop himself. “Asshole,” he says, and kisses him, deeply, letting the full force of his feelings bleed through.

When he pulls back, Wilde’s face is flushed, his eyes are hooded and glassy, lips shiny and swollen. He lets out a small sigh, before a wry look comes over his face and the insufferable smirk is back in its place. Zolf has never found him more beautiful.

“What was that for?” Wilde breathes, the picture of innocence.

“Are you really gonna to make me say it again?” Zolf says, and his voice comes out a pitch lower than usual. He watches with feigned disinterest as a small shiver runs through Wilde’s whole body, the playful smirk slipping for just a moment as the lowered timbre registers; something Zolf decides to file away for another time, when they’re safer, and also maybe more alone.

“I don’t recall you saying it in the first place,” Wilde says, the smirk back and growing wider, his eyes shining and crinkled at the corners, “I remember you saying that you _needed_ me,” he bats his eyelashes, “but that could mean _anything_ -”

“Oh, shut up,” Zolf growls, cutting him off with another kiss. Wilde lets out a small groan of pleasure that goes straight through Zolf’s whole body, and one of Zolf’s hands slips down to tangle in the soft hair at the base of Wilde’s neck. Wilde groans again, reaching up an arm to curl over Zolf’s back and arching into him, eager and willing. 

The kiss is wilder, this time, fuelled by emotions that have, until now, been quashed and ignored for months upon end. Open mouthed and fast paced, breaths mingling, hot and furious. Zolf can feel Wilde's pulse through his fingers where they lie against the man's neck, and it does funny things to his heart to know that Wilde is alive, and _here_ , and in his arms-

Wilde is utterly exquisite, and Zolf wonders how long it’s been since somebody worshipped him as thoroughly as he deserves. He realises, with the dim knowledge that he’s always known, that he wants to be the one to do that for him.

Wilde props himself up in bed on one arm, breathing heavily, the one arm that's still around Zolf's shoulders sliding up and into his hair, letting his nails drag against Zolf's scalp, and eliciting soft sighs of pleasure from the dwarf.

Zolf rises as Wilde does, and Wilde, the slippery bastard, uses that momentum to yank Zolf down onto the bed and on top of him. Zolf growls in surprise, low in his throat, and Wilde breaks the kiss to throw his head back and laugh, bearing the column of his throat. 

"Oscar," Zolf warns, still in a low growl, burying his face in the crook of Wilde's neck. Wilde's laugh falters, devolving into a soft ' _oh_ ' in response to Zolf's use of his first name and the warm, wet kisses that now leave a scorching trail up and under Wilde's jaw.

Zolf takes the opportunity to drag his teeth against the soft skin of Wilde’s neck, before he bites down and _sucks_ , feeling Wilde’s pulse against his tongue, and Wilde's back arches involuntarily, pressing the full length of his body flush against Zolf’s, and moans, long and loud.

“Gods, I love you,” Wilde groans, as he writhes beneath Zolf, digging his nails into his back.

Zolf, because he is not an arrogant prat, simply chuckles - somewhat breathlessly - into Wilde’s neck, and growls, “ _Gotcha_.” 

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't edited either honestly im so sorry for this mess ajskhdfasdf
> 
> if you made it this far <3 big kudos to you!


End file.
